


Swept Off My Feet

by innerain



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, BAMF John, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, But it might take a while, F/M, It will become explicit, John Plays Rugby, M/M, Mutual Pining, ballet!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3371087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerain/pseuds/innerain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Watson decides to attend the end-of-term performance of a ballet academy just to please his current girlfriend, the last thing he expects is to find himself somehow drawn to it. Or, more specifically, to a certain lanky, aloof danseur, who seems as interested in talking to John as much as John thought he would ever come to like ballet in his life. Little does he know, the young genius in pointe shoes might just be unpredictable (and mad) enough to make both things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swept Off My Feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [werewolfsaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolfsaz/gifts).



> Hello everyone, Miriam here.  
> This is my first attempt at writing a fic in English (which is not my mother tongue), and I'm doing it for a very dear friend of mine, who is also my long-time RP partner. I can't promise I'll update often as exams are underway (*shudders*) and also because Madam Muse is a capricious bitch who likes to mess up all my plans at random intervals.  
> That being said, I would deeply, truly appreciate any comments, constructive criticism, kudos or anything you've got.  
> My knowledge of ballet is limited to two years of classical ballet I did as a child, along with what knowledge I gained because of personal curiosity. I'll try and keep the use of technical terms to a minimum, but to anyone out there who knows more than I do, feel free to pitch in with corrections and whatnot.  
> That being said, I'll leave you to it.
> 
> Oh and - of course - this fic is dedicated to my darling Saz, who has been writing fics and chapters for me nonstop for a while now. I thought it was high time I made her a gift of my own. The title is taken from a song she graciously indicated as 'ideal' for a ballet!lock fic, and that is "God Damn You're Beautiful" by Chester See.

The minutely decorated arches sloped above their heads shone with the buzzing, yellowy lights of the various chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the golden hue of the entire foyer also one of human warmth, as several dozens of people (perhaps past a hundred) crowded its relatively limited space.

The Metro Theatre was not meant for a restless, surreptitiously eager crowd of parents, relatives, nannies and a few teenagers, all waiting to get inside of the auditorium - it was rather a more retro, perhaps even vaguely sophisticated theatre, meant to host various forms of entertainment for the upper class. Either way, it all looked terribly dull and outdated to the eyes of a 21-year-old med student, who certainly didn’t appreciate his girlfriend’s lack of an attempt at making it all even more boring.

“Uh-huh, yeah.. No, of course, she wouldn’t have.” John Watson heard himself reply, as he glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time. Even though he had no idea how the theatre or ballet performance etiquette worked, his hopes that they could soon take a seat were rather feebly supported by it.

“.. And then when Tara told me she wouldn’t be coming tonight, because of Ian, you can imagine how- Oh, look John, they’re opening the doors to the auditorium!”

The auditorium looked as pretentious as the foyer did, all tall, wooden pilasters with ridiculously decorated capitals, velvety red seats and golden, dim lights shining suggestively on the people who were pouring inside, each of them engaged in the quest to finding his or her seat.

Five minutes later found John sat at his rather comfortable seat in the stalls, drumming his fingers along the armrest as Katie read the evening’s program, the title of the performance and the more noticeable performers, along with the composers and their respective pieces. It was only a few minutes later that the speakers announced that the first performance would be starting soon - which it did.

Any hope of finding it even vaguely interesting eluded the blond student before the first half an hour had passed; fifteen minutes into the second performance, he was fiddling with his phone in the hopes of distracting himself from the fourty-five minutes separating him from a much desired freedom, away from such a posh form of art, surrounded by posh people and their posh kids.

“John, look!”

Raising his eyes at once, his eyes were inevitably caught by a figure onstage.    
  
Amongst the clashing, vivacious colours moving about on the stage, perfectly timed as they created a rather startling balance between them, a single body moved about, seemingly without any care for the rest of them. His graceful movements looked as if such a supple, lithe body - all muscle and sinew and effortless elegance - weighed less than air itself, as it soared across the stage, bringing about a dramatically perfect, controlled chaos which only appeared to clash with the other dancers around him.

It was impossible to take his eyes off of the stage, so that when the scene ended and the last few minutes of the performance unravelled, it felt as if a very important thought or event had just been interrupted much too brusquely.  
John was left to blink owlishly once the rounds of applause had abated, only managing to get another glimpse of that singular nucleus of chaos before it disappeared again behind the red velvet curtains.  
 

*

   
“Mel, you were wonderful!”

John was startled out of his thoughts by the shrill sound of his girlfriend’s voice, soon joined by Melanie’s equally excited and piercing one.   
The elegantly dressed, red-haired ballet dancer (whose hair was so tightly tied in a chignon that John briefly wondered how her features weren’t being stretched backwards towards her hairline) was very reason he was even standing there, holding a rather meagre bouquet of gerbera daisies.

“Uhm, yeah - You really were, Melanie. Great performance.” He muttered, holding out that very bouquet at once, as if on cue, hoping Katie wouldn’t notice he’d been distracted.

Truth be told, he had valiantly ignored the not-so-hushed comments on the performance, which definitely stood out from the average parent gloating about his or her child, or the sniggers and teasing jokes made by the few younger members of the audience. He had no idea what he’d found so intriguing about that rather singular danseur, and he convinced himself, in hindsight, that it had merely been boredom taking its toll on his mind.

“Oh, thanks Katie, they’re gorgeous! I’m glad you survived through it John, I’m sure it’s not exactly a rugby player’s ideal way to spend a Saturday evening...” Melanie giggled shrilly, then pulled John’s girlfriend by her arm and they proceeded to gossip intensely about her latest crush, and how she’d been hoping he would turn up that evening.

It was only then that John caught a glimpse of someone moving quickly through the people, though inevitably standing out quite impressively: not just because of his height, which would have already been enough, but also because of his face - which was the only thing John could see clearly, above everyone else.

His age was not immediately discernible, given that his sharp, angular features still bore the unnatural pallor of greasepaint and the faint shadows of darker makeup, especially beneath his prominent cheekbones and eyes. The latter were an indefinite glasz colour, as sharp as they were piercing, the effect even further emphasised by the last traces of stage makeup. Dark hair was slicked back and shone with hues of ebony brown as street lights and various lamps hanging from the outer walls of the theatre reflected a passing glow upon it.

It was only as the striking figure finally reached the edge of the kerb, that John realised he’d been staring. Katie and Melanie appeared to be none the wiser as they still chatted away. He managed to catch a glimpse of whom he realised must have been the danseur, talking to an even taller figure, before he pulled away suddenly and slipped inside of a sleek black car, which - as soon as it had swallowed the second man as well - switched its engine back on with a muffled rumble and sped off into the dark and chilly night.


End file.
